


A Hat of Magic

by bryar6



Category: Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones, Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Post-Book 2, bookverse, but prior to 3, disaster family at their finest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryar6/pseuds/bryar6
Summary: In which there is a moderately disastrous shopping outing, hat theft, magic misuse, and a more or less happy Pendragon family.
Relationships: Howl Pendragon & Morgan Pendragon, Sophie Hatter & Howl Pendragon, Sophie Hatter/Howl Pendragon
Kudos: 5





	A Hat of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a practice piece to get to know the nuances of the characters better, but somewhere along the way it spilled out of hand and I had just a blast writing these characters. Once I feel I have them down pact, I'm returning to the chaptered fic...happy reading!
> 
> Also, following my accidental HMC fic poetry-titling theme, this one is titled as a parody of some lines of Billy Collins' "Death of the Hat."

“Howl, I’m headed to market,” Sophie calls loudly to the inhabitants of the castle, snatching up a basket and tugging away the small trowel her son had been digging into an unused flower pot. Morgan is well on his way to creating disasters the likes of which might put Howl’s to shame one day. “Quick, before I’m gone, are we low on anything you or Calcifer need?” 

There’s a tapping of feet as the wizard flies down the stairs, suit and sleeves trailing out behind him. He’s quite tidied up and she guesses he must be headed somewhere, too. 

“Uh,” he begins, eyes darting around the room. “I don’t think…” _You don’t,_ she silently agrees, simply not voicing it because he’s trying to recall something and she doesn’t dare distract his precious attention, though the thought of the reaction she’d have gotten from him is entertaining. 

“You’ll remember once I’m home, won’t you?” 

Howl’s face twists. “Maybe.” 

“Always happens, it’s why I’m asking.” 

“Hush that, it’s not my fault I have so many things on the mind as Royal Wizard, you know. I don’t have space for it all in this damn crowded brain of mine.” He shuffles through today’s mess on the dining table with a frustrated sigh. “It was something important I need for a spell, too… Wait! I’ll come with you.” 

Sophie raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “Last time you went shopping—” 

Howl shakes his head furiously. “You’ll have the coinpurse this time, I promise I’ll just be looking for that reagent and keeping my hands off everything else.” 

“You’d better.”

“Here, give me Morgan and then you won’t have to worry because I’ll have my hands full, literally,” Howl compromises, and Sophie gives in, passing said toddler over. 

For a moment Sophie lingers on Howl’s big grin as he lifts Morgan, cooing and mumbling nonsense to him before resting him solidly on his own hip, his smile like sunshine never dissolving. She looks away before Howl can catch her staring (good thing, too, or he’d have probably said something ridiculous and mushy) and heads for the door, clicking the portal knob through to the street of Market Chipping.

The street is bustling and full of people coming and going, haggling and browsing and bartering for goods, colorful and chaotic and everything Sophie has known it to be since her childhood on these very streets. It’s comforting in it’s crowdedness, though she can’t say Howl is enjoying himself nearly so much. There’s a definite scowl on his face as he watches the carriages pass, shoulders hunching in on himself as the noise gets louder the further they walk into the busyness. 

“It’s alright, you’ve faced far worse you know,” she says, extending a subtle hand that he gratefully takes. 

“I should have disguised myself,” he says under his breath, and now she notices the glances the three of them are receiving. As the official Royal Wizard, he has made a name for himself, not only as Wizard Howl. They have yet to fully quiet the terror of his former moniker. 

“You could always wear the horse costume, now that Michael doesn’t,” she suggests. He splutters for a very stricken moment, before registering it as a joke. 

“Absolutely _not_. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that,” he says, a very serious look about him. Sophie believes it. 

They meander through the streets, Sophie keeping a firm grip on Howl’s hand to tug him away from glittering metal things or large leatherbound tomes, both of them pointing out random objects and repeating the names for Morgan, who couldn’t be less interested by learning words. It might have been willed by Sophie under her breath, but they are kindly left to their shopping and Howl stands a little less folded. 

“Mhm. Oh, the fruit vendors are here,” Sophie says, pointing across the street to several long tables of exotic and colorful fruits that have clearly caught Morgan’s attention with how he’s thrown his weight in that direction and caused Howl to stumble to regain his balance underneath. But if Howl is paying attention, he doesn’t show it. 

The wizard holds up a shiny trinket under Sophie’s nose, eyes lighting up. “Do you know what this right here is?” 

“I don’t,” she admits, gently brushing past him. He deflates with a melodramatic sigh. “We came here for food, remember.” 

“Yes, yes, but it’s not every day you see one of these,” he continues, holding up a peculiar miniature telescope to his eye and directing the half-crescent tool to the sky. “They haven’t had to use them in centuries where I’m from.” 

Somehow this doesn’t surprise Sophie, recalling the frightening horseless carriages and the magic boxes with their special pictures. What need would they have for a tiny telescope if they could control magic in such fine ways already? Howl does have a particular liking for the historical. 

“It’s a sextant, they navigated— well, they still do here —on oceans by the stars using these things. You know, I think we should take a trip on the sea someday. You think Calcifer would put up with a castle renovation for that?” He sets the tool down, clearly content to keep rifling through this vendor’s wooden and metal oddities, who keeps a watchful eye on him as though half-expecting Howl to pocket them by accident.

She turns away, eyes travelling over a small assortment of ribbons. She briefly touches her neat braid, considering, but shrugs it off. She still has a number of materials from the hat shop and needn’t fill the little house any further than they already do. She passes a hand over a couple shimmering brooches, all far too fancy for her mild tastes. 

A small, colorful child’s cloak hanging at the next booth over catches Sophie’s eye and she smiles, already picturing it in her head. Morgan would likely take to it well, what with his fondness for blankets (and a particular quilt Megan had sent Howl when she’d learned of their son, a bit delayed). And it wouldn’t be a useless purchase, either, what with changing weather right around the corner. 

She turns, a hand reaching out for her husband’s sleeve to tug and her attention is caught instead by a large, extravagant hat with a grandiose plume dancing from the band above his head, it’s wide brim grasped firmly between two tiny, fat hands. Her son shakes it up and down, giggling over his newfound toy. 

“Howl,” she warns, staring up at their son perched atop his shoulders. Morgan grabs a fistful of Howl’s loose hair and yanks hard with a free hand, triggering some very quiet curses in what must be Welsh, though he doesn’t move to stop his son. 

“Yes, my dear?” he manages, grimacing. Morgan giggles again as Howl’s long flaxen locks knot and she thinks she can see him giving up on salvaging his scalp at this rate. 

“Our son is holding a hat that doesn’t belong to us, isn’t he?” 

“Astute observation.” 

“Our child is committing petty thievery.” 

“Well, he certainly doesn’t get it from me.” 

“Oh! Doesn’t mean he needs to develop the habit either way!” she protests, but Howl’s face has shifted to something a bit softer and bemused, if not distracted as his eyes flick over the stands, anywhere but Sophie’s hard eyes. “How long has he been waving it?” 

“Hmm? Oh, can’t say. A while now, didn’t see it happen.” 

“I can’t believe you’ve let him steal a hat off a stranger’s head.” 

“What was I supposed to do when I realized? He’s enjoying it,” Howl argues, pointing a finger up to the toddler who is now slobbering all over it’s expensive brim. “Any reasonable folk would be securing their belongings from _little. Grabbing. Paws._ ” His words become punctuated with part-yelps as Morgan continues on his quest of tearing his father’s prized hair from its roots. “Bachgennyn, please.” 

“We have to get it back, it’s a nice hat,” she argues, a hand resting on her hip insistently. Howl’s bottom lip protrudes and she immediately recognizes the face he makes when searching for pity or trying to slither-out of a conflict. 

“You get to be the one who breaks his poor little heart, then.” 

“Oh, paint me as the bad one, why don’t you.”

“I would never. He loves you too much to stay upset, anyways.” 

All the same, Howl crouches to let her gently tug the hat away, replacing it with Morgan’s favorite blanket she’d brought along on a whim. Sophie praises herself for her smart thinking because otherwise there would have been no retrieving the headwear. She turns it over in her hands, trying to wipe the lingering drool off on the edge of her skirt— with half a mind to do it on Howl’s sleeve —and sighs a bit. At the very least it couldn’t have been very long that the hat was away from its owner, as they hadn’t been in the street for long.

Morgan continues on rather nonplussed, proceeding to latch onto the cloth overhang of the booth they stand beside, the vendor beneath it nervously pointing. Howl delicately pries the little hands off and steps out of reach, his eyes now trained on their errant child. 

“Well, I suppose I could try to magic this thing to go back,” Sophie mutters to herself, eyeing the fancy peacock feather. Whoever it belongs to will be missing it sorely once they realize, if they haven’t already. 

“In that case, please hurry up and do it before he tries to tear this whole place to the ground,” Howl says, hands clamped around Morgan’s little legs to keep him from tipping right off his shoulders. Morgan changes tactics and strains for the hanging decorations that pass overhead too high for him to touch, but as many children, he chases an impossible dream borne of poor depth perception.

“Return to whence you came,” she tells the hat. It quivers, and then jumps from her grasp with a start— and tucks itself happily back into Morgan’s hands. Their son coos, amused to have his toy back. “Well, that didn’t work…”

She spends a few more moments attempting other phrases wherein she insists that the hat goes home, goes back, is returned, all to no avail no matter what she does, her annoyance growing steadily. Sophie could swear the faintest look of amusement has risen on Howl’s face throughout this fruitless ordeal and she’s about had it with this self-absorbed and frivolous hat. _Whoever thought these colors even compliment each other?_ she thinks, tutting to herself. 

“Oh, you darned thing, I wish you’d find your owner already, even if it means trying every head in all of Ingary!” she demands, casting it to the ground as if to stomp on it. Her mistake borne of indignancy is realized a moment too late. 

Howl tips his head to her and blinks blankly. 

“Damn,” Sophie mutters. 

Morgan claps his little hands together and cackles gleefully. 

The hat shoots away across the cobblestone fast as an arrow, darting about the street and leaping onto innocent heads with an incredible amount of force before tearing itself off and trying the next nearest victim in rapid succession. Shrieks rise into the air and what was a more or less orderly crowd is now shoving each other out of the way in a hurry to evade the persistent headwear, trampling goods and toppling booths. 

“That certainly is one way to figure this out.” 

“The hat is attacking them, Howl!” 

“Then make it stop,” he says plainly, a hint of a grin on his face. He’s _enjoying_ this, she realizes with very little surprise. _Oh, he’ll hear about what I have to think about him enjoying it when I make a fool of myself._

“How? It’s— I didn’t mean to!”

“Well, you did mean it just enough, apparently, and now it’s done and either it goes on a rampage or you stop it.” 

“Why don’t you stop it?”

“We’ve been over this, haven’t we, darling?” Indeed they have. Half the time Howl interjecting his magic with her own is a recipe for disaster, though Sophie would bet on the root of that problem being his slithering-out tendencies. Magic isn’t helpful if the user behind it isn’t trying to be. 

“Fine! Please watch our son and don’t let him after anyone else’s possessions,” she growls and marches towards the poor fellow on whose head the hat is perched. 

“Understood,” Howl replies lightly, a bit like an afterthought. 

“Hat! Come back here right now!” The hat makes a dead flight for her, bowling over passerby as it zooms up the street. It doesn’t stop politely at her hands, not that she’d expected it to, but it throws itself onto Sophie’s head, squeezing tightly for a moment as though thinking hard, and yanks off before flying to the person beside her. So much for keeping her magic any bit inconspicuous. “Hat! Cease your searching and come land in my hands this instant and stay there!” 

The hat veers in midair and obediently drops into her outstretched arms and lies perfectly still, like any unassuming, normal hat should. 

The entirety of the street now stares up at her with disdain and she apologizes sheepishly, turning back to her family with a stern scowl written all over her face. If the people the hat had attacked savagely have issues, they can take it up with her later; the shopping has been delayed enough. Luckily no one _does_ approach them, though this might be due to the fact they’re a bit known for...incidents like this, though a hat is certainly new. 

“Now that I’ve already made a mess of things, it’s your turn,” Sophie insists, thrusting the hat to Howl who scrambles to catch it before it falls, all while trying to keep a swaying child balanced on his shoulders who clasps some stray paper likely torn off a notice board. 

“Wait, Sophie—”

“I’m not hearing it,” she hisses, waving a finger in his face. “Watch Morgan and return a hat. How hard could that be?” 

“It _could_ be impossible,” he protests. Sophie spins on her heel and is gone before he can properly refuse or stop her. He watches her bright hair disappear into the mix of shoppers. 

“Great. How hard could it be?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Apparently, it’s _actually_ impossible,” he grumbles, snapping his fingers. The simple divination spell he’d drawn onto an alleyway wall disappears. 

Why it had failed, Howl really can’t say. Perhaps conflicting magic in the area, or the hat was already enchanted, but that wouldn’t make sense with Sophie’s easy commanding of it (though nothing has ever made sense with Sophie, honestly, and that he’s learned to accept). Whatever it is, he’s growing vaguely frustrated and tired and knows that to return to Sophie still in possession of the offending article is to admit defeat and that’s currently not on the list of things he’d like to do, now or ever. 

“It’s really too bad Calcifer isn’t here. Could have just fed him the hat and that would be the end of it,” Howl says with a small snort. Morgan waves the hat again as though offering it. “I was joking. Don’t tell Mum I said that.” 

Morgan giggles almost knowingly and returns to chewing thoughtfully on the hat. Howl debates taking it away from him but doesn’t; whoever owns a hat like this likely also owns a coinpurse just as large. He doesn’t feel so bad for its owner if it’s returned in less-than-stellar condition. And if he has a change of heart, magic would quickly fix it. 

“So what’s the gameplan?” He asks no one, letting the term slip, not that it would be so concerning as maybe saying “nuclear politics” or the like. Least he hasn’t done that yet, but perhaps wearing a graphic printed tee to answer the door one time was a little over the line, considering the onslaught of customers who wanted paintings on their clothes, too. Nothing that a little hazy-memory spell didn’t fix, though. 

Morgan babbles away in his made-up language atop his shoulders and Howl makes a quiet note of the amount of drool soaking his hair by now, and politely waits for Morgan’s baby-talk tirade to end. 

“Yes, you’re right. There is one awful, humiliating thing we haven’t tried yet.” 

Howl adjusts Morgan and trudges for the town center, hat dangling from one heavy hand, doing his best to smile kindly at the staring townsfolk as Sophie had said it would do them all some good in regaining trust and respect; whether it is working or not is yet to be seen. It really is a pain having your multiple identities all exposed. 

“This is for Mum and Mum only,” he insists, answering Morgan’s unintelligible chatter again. “Sometimes I swear I love that woman too much.” Their son giggles in agreement. 

Howl spends the better part of an hour half-heartedly calling out ‘Lost hat!’ and other variations in hopes that someone would be on the lookout for it, but other than a couple other small children with concern or interest etched on their faces, no one else so much as even glances in their direction. 

“Alright, this has gone on long enough,” Howl says, hoisting Morgan onto his hip and eyeing the hat with disdain. “We’ll leave it atop this statue and then whoever has lost it will come back and find it on their own, and that way it’s no longer our issue and Sophie can’t say we didn’t try. Say ‘bye-bye hat,’ Morgan.” He demonstratively waves to the irritating headwear, internally cursing it to hell and back again for being such a nuisance. Morgan looks up at him with wide, asking eyes as Howl starts off for the vendors again. 

“Oh no. No, you are not pulling that on me,” he says, tearing himself away from the saddening yet adorable puppy eyes his son is using on him. “God, is this how Sophie feels with me sometimes? I’d almost be sorry.” 

Morgan reaches over his shoulder for the hat that is now fading in the distance, little fists coming down against arm and Howl shakes his head, placing the blanket back into his son’s arms. 

“It’s okay, the hat will go elsewhere and we don’t have to worry anymore. Maybe if you’re extra nice Mum will make you a hat of your own one day.” Morgan makes a noise as though he likes the sound of that and they continue on together, Howl quietly feeling out Sophie’s magic to locate her in the mix. 

When he finds his wife, she’s quietly trying on a fancy shawl, glancing into a nearby window to check it’s fit. It’s colorful, a delicate floral pattern embroidered over it’s edges with a light fringe on it’s long ends. 

“It looks good on you,” Howl says, resting one hand gently on her hip and smiling at their reflections as he pulls her closer. Sophie blushes and looks away and Morgan makes demanding grabbing motions for his mother. 

“I don’t need it,” she insists, and moves to return it. Howl stops her hand, placing a few coins into the vendor’s outstretched hand, who simply shrugs and accepts the payment. 

“You’re allowed to have nice things too, you know. I’m not sure what your family put through your head but I ought to help you change that,” he says earnestly. She rolls her eyes, but adjusts the shawl with a soft smile. 

“I don’t suppose I could stop you if I wanted,” she relents, reaching up and letting Morgan take hold of a finger, all his tiny ones clamped around it with the vice-like grip only a toddler has. 

Howl’s chest does that absurd clenching thing he’s come to understand as fondness and he suppresses the shiver at the sensation. It’s warming, spreading away from his heart, comforting in the most interesting way, like how Calcifer’s fire is calming. There’s the softest ache, too, as his heart beats away and experiences whatever strange things it does. He’s still not accustomed to the workings of a heart, but perhaps eventually he will be. It happens a lot more frequently than he’d like to admit. He ducks and presses a quick kiss to Sophie’s forehead before drawing away again, letting his smile say everything for him. 

She smiles in return and takes his hand in her free one and guides them back to the castle. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Howl, once Calcifer gets back, would you start supper?” Sophie asks, standing on her tiptoes to place a spice jar on it’s high rack. Howl deftly plucks it from her hands and places it for her with a trademark smirk. 

“Suppose I can. If he’s not back in a few, I’ll call on him.” Sophie acknowledges his answer with a nod. He’s gradually— though _painfully_ , slowly —become more mature, but if Calcifer weren’t involved in the cooking process she’s not sure she could get Howl to stay interested in it long enough for any food to be finished. 

The putting-away of things finally finished, she glances around the room to find a decently picked up home, only a few things here and there that are bothering her all that seriously. With Morgan, it’s harder to keep the place as clean as it had been with just Michael and Howl, but she’s grown well-acquainted with small messes and can almost tolerate them. Almost. 

And speaking of her son, he’s sitting among a couple small toys by the hearth no doubt waiting for “Uncle Cal” (as he’d been affectionately dubbed by Howl, to the demon’s initial distaste, though he had since adopted the title with pride) to return. Morgan says something declarative in gibberish to himself, clapping his hands together in the air as he does. There’s a pop of bright light that fills the room and something large and floppy and distinctly familiar drops into his lap from thin air, peacock feather waving. 

It’s none other than the hat that had plagued them in the street earlier. 

“Sophie! Sophie! Did you see that!” Howl cries, tripping over his feet in a rush to get to her side, exhilaration and joy on his features like only the brightest stars could shine. It’s an extremely improper reaction. 

“YES. The hat is back! You two failed to return it and _lied_ to me!” she shouts, gesturing indignantly. _Of all the things! I know better than to think Howl of all people could manage something so simple. He must have disguised it or—_ He shakes his head with fervor, hands raised to calm her, settling against her shoulders. 

“No! No lies at all, he’s done magic, Sophie! We left it back in the square. He’s magic just like us! Our son is magic!” Howl sweeps her up in his arms and spins them around, laughing happily to himself. When he finally sets her down he kisses her firmly on the lips, _so strangely elated for someone who’s going to have to watch a magical, trouble-prone child,_ and draws her into a hug. 

“I cannot believe our son’s first magic attempt was to steal a hat back after you spent all afternoon trying to return it,” she mutters. “He really does take after your style of chaos.” 

“Mine?” Howl laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’ve got it backwards. It’s you who would steal hats, probably accidentally or out of spite, but still.” 

She gasps in mock offense. “I wouldn’t.” Though she _had_ stolen into the castle all those years ago… But she takes a moment to muse on this discovery; it’s not surprising their son is magical, but so young, and so early… “Howl, what kind of magic does he have?” 

“I haven’t the slightest,” he admits, looking no more put out by this conclusion. “We’ll have to wait to see as he grows up.” He says this second part with a weight of familiarity. Sophie makes a mental note to ask Howl about his childhood and discovering his magic, but that’s for another day. Today will make one magical story that goes into their growing tales and adventures either way, or perhaps this is the start of a whole new tome. Sophie looks forward to it, in the way that one looks forward to the unknown with acknowledged, foolish hopefulness. 

Howl rests his cheek against her head and rocks them slightly, humming contentedly as they watch Morgan tugging at the fancy hat, enjoying the fruits of his magical labor immensely. Sophie has decided that this time there’s simply no point in trying to get it back and accepts the fact her son is a hat thief. There’s worse things a nearly year-old child could be. Though it might be possible he didn’t steal it… she doesn’t want to think about the mess a child with summoning abilities could make, and it’s quickly dispelled. 

“What was the important ingredient you needed, again? We forgot it, didn’t we?” Sophie asks, realizing that they’d come back home relatively soon after he and Morgan had rejoined her, and since he hadn’t been carrying money, couldn’t have fetched it on his own. Though, it occurs to her he must have had coins stashed somewhere to buy the shawl, but she decides not to linger on it. 

“Oh, the reagent? Well, admittedly, there wasn’t actually one.” Sophie does appreciate his honesty in the rare, vulnerable moments. 

“So I went through all this chaos, with you in tow, caused a ruckus in the center of town that everyone saw, for no good reason?” 

“I’m hurt. I just wanted to spend time with my family.” He pretends to pout, his pleased look betraying him when he catches the slight fondness hiding on Sophie’s face. “I think that’s good enough reason.” 

“Is that all?” 

“Perhaps I can enjoy myself on outings, hm?” 

“If a failed hat returning quest is your idea of enjoyable, then of course.” Howl shrugs in reply, chewing his lip as he thinks, eyes narrowing oddly. 

“Oh, damnation. I was supposed to get Calcifer a new grate. That’s what it was.” 

“Howl!” 

“Did I hear my name?” A sparking blueish fire demon shoots down the chimney and into the room, surveying the little family with intrigue. Sophie puts aside her admonishment for the time being. 

“Yes. Forgot your grate; today was rather eventful,” Howl explains, scrunching his nose as though considering a proper apology or explanation but not providing either. 

“What days aren’t with you three?” Calcifer chuckles, settling into his logs, making himself comfortable and choosing the driest wood. Sophie glances to Howl, who grins and nods. 

“Well, today more than other days…” Sophie says with a slight sigh, a cross between tired and happy. “Morgan is magic.” 

Calcifer leaps up from the logs in a burst of bright flame. “I MISSED HIS FIRST MAGIC?” 

“He just summoned a hat back to him—” Howl starts, but Calcifer has shot across the room to hang in the air in front of Morgan. 

“Do it again! Do magic again!” the fire demon encourages, bouncing up and down. Morgan clearly doesn’t understand, reaching out to grab the soft floating spark instead and discarding the hat momentarily. He clutches Calcifer to his chest, who sighs goodnaturedly. “Well, I suppose there will be another opportunity. So young, too!” 

Sophie looks up and meets Howl’s eyes with a slight look of worry and he shares it briefly, but squeezes her hand in comfort. _The Fates play the strings well, don’t they?_ she muses. 

“We’ve managed worse, what’s a magical kid as well?” He seems a bit too confident in his words as he readjusts her new shawl, fussing with it’s positioning, head still very much in the clouds. 

“The frosting on the cake,” Sophie answers, both a mite fearful and proud. 

Nothing in either of their lives has ever been easy since Sophie barged into the castle that fateful day. And since then they’ve had adventures the likes of which Sophie could have only dreamt of before, with doubtless more to come. They’ve never expected child-rearing to go kinder on them by any means. Their lives will surely fulfill ‘hair-raising’ and this they accept with determined hearts. 

It is their happily ever after, afterall.

**Author's Note:**

> Bachgennyn: little boy, little lad
> 
> ~~
> 
> A very great thanks to @NikiBogwater for helping me with selecting the prompt/elements and the spectacular line about feeding the hat to Calcifer, whose assistance helped create what I think is the most fun thing I've written all year. And thanks to the friends who have allowed me to bother them for beta reading and as sounding boards for this, and of course to all you readers. 
> 
> Have a lovely day!


End file.
